


Never Getting Over You

by soowrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anniversary, Character Death, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Derek and Stiles have two daughters, Grief/Mourning, Isaac and Scott have a daughter, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soowrites/pseuds/soowrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Papa, are we going to visit Daddy?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Getting Over You

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first Scisaac fic I've written so I apologise if it's kind of bad. Also, it's sort of depressing and deals with the issues that come with mourning and not being able to let go. Hopefully I did the characters justice :)
> 
> This is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.

 

“Papa, are we going to visit Daddy?” my little girl questioned, eyes wide with innocence. She made my chest ache with it. She had no idea just how much she reminds me of him. When she was born, that had seemed like a blessing. Now it just hurt.

I forced a smile because I didn’t want her to know how much I was losing control. “Yes sweetie,” I managed to get out.

Her brown eyes light up at the confirmation and she bounced on her tiptoes slowly. “I’m going to wear the dress Auntie Lydia brought me – my special dress,” she declared before scampering off to get ready.

I never understood her excitement for the day. I really didn’t. The days approaching the day, today, tended to take its toll – I was emotional and irrational, I knew that, but mostly, it felt like mourning all over again. Perhaps, for her, it was something different. I knew she must only have vague memories of her father, she was so young when they lost him; maybe this is a way for her to feel connected to the man she never really met. It was for that reason that I was preparing to leave when all I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and give himself a few hours to deny the truth before reality settled in once more.

“Papa,” she called from her bedroom, the hint of an impatient whine to her voice, “Come and help me! The dress got stuck…”

 

#

 

I did the car ride in silence, only half listening to her words as she babbled about what she was going to tell her Daddy. About her birthday party the week before; the wonderful Miss Clark, her nursery teacher; her friends and a incident with the jungle gym; about getting the lead in the school play.

Each word was a reminder that it shouldn’t be like this. She should be able to come home and climb into her Daddy’s lap, telling him stories with all her eager childishness, whilst he oohed and ahhed in all the right places. He should be there to soothe her pain, to hold her and to put her to bed at night.

He should be there to soothe my pain, to hold me, to come to bed with at night.

“…Papa?” she said quietly.

“Yes Tabitha?”

Not Tabby. _Never_ Tabby. That was _his_ name for her.

“Are you okay?” she asked hesitantly, hands playing absentmindedly with one of the bows on her dress.

“I’m fine sweetie,” I tried to assure.

“You smell sad,” she commented, wrinkling her nose, “sadder than usual.”

Damn werewolf noses. I reached out with one hand, squeezing reassuringly and taking just as much comfort from it as I was offering.

“I will be fine.”

_I have to be._

 

#

 

Stiles was already there when they arrived.

Tabitha’s eyes brightened when she caught sight of the man – her favourite uncle by far – and scrambled with her seatbelt, and then the car door, before she exited the car and threw herself into his arms. I climbed out of the car after her, at a much slower pace.

Stiles beamed and spun her in the air, making her giggle pleasantly before he settled her on his hip. “And how’s the princess today?”

“I’m good Uncle Stiles,” she patted his cheek before leaning close and whispering, “Papa’s sad.”

Stiles glanced at me, not pitying because he never did, but with understanding and perhaps a tinge of worry. That was probably worse than the pity.

Stiles’ eyes finally drifted away, a smile falling back into place. “It’s just a sad time for Papa, he’ll be fine soon enough,” he assured.

Tabitha accepted the words as law, with all the trust of a child.

She ran ahead of them, having already memorised the route. I watched intensely, aware of every uneven step or overgrown weed that she could get her foot caught on. Stiles lagged at my side, silent, and that was just…wrong. It wasn’t right. Stiles was never silent. Not unless he was worried. I hate the fact he’s probably worried for me.

“Where’s Derek?” I inquire lowly.

“Clara has a cold, so he volunteered to play nurse;” he answered eventually, “And Rosie is far too young anyway. It’s probably for the better.” He paused, “Are you coping?”

Stiles asked the same question every year. _Are you coping?_ As if the answer ever changed.

“I’m trying.”

 

#

 

The rest of the trip lasted how it normally did. Tabitha would talk, crouched at the ground, not even noticing or perhaps not caring that she was talking to a gravestone. I couldn’t watch, couldn’t see her face and the cold slap of concrete that bore his name. I would stare out across the valley, trying desperately to think of anything else but this. When she was finished, she stood up, brushing down her skirt, before pressing a kiss to the words on the tombstone and muttering the words, “I love you Daddy,” before skipping away to my side. Her little hand would grasp mine and I’d hold it like a life line.

Stiles went next. He mostly sat in silence, usually with his eyes closed, reminiscing happier times behind his eyelids. After a few moments, he would stand; trace the curve at the top of the stone before returning to our side. Tabitha would slide her hand into Stiles’.

And then, like every time, Stiles would say. “Do you want me to take her? Melissa’s not going to be off work for another few hours and I know you…want to be alone.”

I would nod stiffly, forcing a smile to my face as I bent my knees to hug my daughter in goodbye. I’d tell her to be good for Uncle Stiles and Uncle Derek, to play nicely with the girls, to take care of grandma for the night, and then promise that I’ll pick her up in the morning. I’ll watch them go, until they’ve completely disappeared from sight, the last moment possible, before I turn back.

My legs are like jelly, shaking and seeming unable to take my weight when I crumble at the grave side. It’s then that tears blur my vision, stream down my cheeks. But they never hide enough, because the words are still there, staring back at me.

_Scott Joseph McCall_

_Beloved son, father, husband, friend_

_In the darkness, he was the hope and the love and truth_

“ _And one day_ ,” I read aloud, “ _I’ll be there to lead his loved ones to heaven_.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> For fic updates follow me on tumblr [here](http://thealphawrites.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
